


Unearthly Thing

by festering



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Jane Eyre Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Hannibal is Hannibal, Happy Ending, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, Will is 18, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-08 15:38:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11084661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/festering/pseuds/festering
Summary: Will Graham, an orphan from an early age, leaves the school he has known for 8 years to tutor the charge of the honourable Count Lecter. The good count is not all he seems.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in years, and the first Hannibal fic I've ever written. I am no historical expert although I did do a bit of research, so please forgive any historical inaccuracies!

William Graham was 6 years old when he first realised he was different.

He was strange enough in appearance; a small, thin child, with unruly dark hair that fell about his eyes to give him the appearance of a rather underfed wolf. His looks alone were enough to make others uneasy, and his aunt’s household would do their utmost best to stay away from the strange orphan child as much as possible.

Perhaps if it was just his outer self that unsettled those around him, Will might have found some semblance of a home with his extended family. But it was his manner that gave him “the air of the devil”, as his aunt’s servants so often said. He knew what it was you were thinking of with just a look, could read your darkest secrets and desires, and was able to tell you your life’s history in no uncertain detail.

People were scared of him, and it did not take him long to understand why. By the age of 10 he knew that whatever he was, whatever curse had been delivered upon him, he would have to spend his life in seclusion. This was not a thought that particularly bothered him – he already preferred the company of the dogs his aunt kept than to that of people, and he had learned that things were far more painless for him if he kept to the shadows, avoiding eye contact and as much interaction as he could.

Nor was his isolation of any matter to his aunt or her children, all of whom despised him. Will did not hold it against any of them. He knew, in the way he often knew things, that his aunt’s hatred was born of resentment, for his uncle loved him dearly and made her swear an oath to raise him before his death, whereas his cousins’ was instilled in them by their mother.

And so when he was sent away to a correctional school while his cousins stayed in their estate to receive a first class education, he was neither surprised nor upset. If anything, the school provided him an even greater chance at solitude. The grounds were vast and easy to disappear in, the rest of the boys happy to ignore the strange Graham boy beyond the odd biting remark now and then. Will was as content as he imagined he could be.

He spent a quiet 8 years there, the first 7 as a student, and the last as a teacher. He’d rather stumbled into teaching, knowing that he had no home to return to when the schoolmaster had offered him the position and therefore had no choice but to accept. Regardless, Mr Crawford was not a man you said no to.

In a way, Will supposed he was sad to leave. The school had been the closest thing to a home he had ever known, with its stream, ripe for fishing in the warmer months, and its never-ending forests, perfect to wander Yet it was growing ever harder to find peace in the place of so many faces, hundreds upon hundreds of boys with troubled minds and broken spirits, shipped off to be forcefully moulded into shape. He did not play the stern teacher well, and his colleagues often remarked upon his unwillingness to prescribe students the cane, or any form of punishment beyond line writing. But how could he ever inflict such a thing on minds he knew so well?

In the end, it was Mr Brown, the one person he felt he could perhaps call a friend, who suggested he advertised.

“This place is stifling you, Will,” he said one evening, while they ate supper. “I would hate to see my friend wither in a prison of his own making.” 

Will had been sad to leave Matthew most of all, who often looked at him with a fondness he had never seen anyone gift him before. He did not find him strange or off-putting, but rather seemed so interested to hear how Will’s mind worked, listening attentively as Will attempted to describe the entangled spider’s web of connections that allowed him to briefly peer inside another’s brain.

“I would miss you terribly if I left,” he had said in response, slowly pushing the cold stew around his plate to avoid making eye contact. “And besides, I don’t imagine Mr Crawford would allow me to go.” 

“Nonsense. I would write you often, and you know that Crawford could not keep you against your will. Let me help you write an advertisement, at least, hm?”

Will looked up to see Matthew smiling down at him, and sighed, knowing he was defeated. “All right. But I doubt anything shall come of it anyway.” 

Matthew simply continued to smile, as if he had no doubts that Will would succeed in finding a position with no trouble whatsoever.

He’d certainly not expected his friend to be right – yet not one week after placing the advertisement they had written together, he received a letter from a Miss Bloom at the Lecter Estate, informing him that a position was open for him as a tutor of a young girl, Miss Abigail Hobbs, charge of the head of the estate.

“What did I tell you?” Matthew had exclaimed excitedly. “Go on, you must write back at once. Oh, you will be living in such a grand place, Will! My uncle owns property not 20 miles from the Lecter Estate; it’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen. And Count Lecter, he-” 

“Count?” Will spluttered, “Matthew, my teaching skills are hardly of the standard necessary to tutor the child of a count.”

Matthew simply pulled back the chair from the small wooden desk that resided in the corner of the room and looked pointedly at the blank piece of paper resting upon it. “You are the most intelligent person here, Will, and you know it. I think the old Count would be blessed to have someone so wise educate his daughter.” 

Will shook his head and said nothing, a soft blush creeping across his cheeks. Matthew was not entirely wrong; he knew he was intelligent enough. He’d dedicated much of his life to knowledge, disowned orphan that he was, forever trying to prove his worth could match another’s.

 Moving the chair back further, Matthew made a gesture as if to say ‘if you won’t I will’.

“Fine,” Will conceded, sitting down and beginning to write. “But you had better write often.”

Matthew grinned.

 

* 

 

The next fortnight flew by, and all at once, he was packing up what few things he owned into the same trunk he had brought with him so many years ago. His possessions mostly consisted of the same grey and brown breeches and worn waistcoats to match, with a handful of equally dreary cravats. Will had always succeeded in dressing just well enough for a man of his station, lowly teacher that he was. He was not one to spend what little he had on fine things.

He could not help but worry, whilst he was packing, that what clothing he owned would not be becoming enough for a private tutor, but there was scarcely little he could do about that now. If his new employer was not satisfied, Will supposed he could visit a tailor there.

Along with the few contents of his wardrobe, he had packed two books: the first, he had taken from his aunt’s estate without her knowledge, a book of grand, colourful adventures that had entertained him greatly as a child and continued to do so into adulthood. The other was a beautifully illustrated novel on fly-fishing that Matthew had gifted to him the day before he left, laughing as Will hugged him tightly in response. Truly, he would miss the man. 

He could not resist bringing the lures he had been handcrafting since he was barely a teenaged boy, working together scraps of bone and bright feathers plucked from the grounds where he lived. Of course, he did not even know if the Lecter Estate would have the means for fishing, a stream or lake, perhaps, let alone if he would be allowed the time to partake in the sport. But he could not imagine leaving without them, having spent so many evenings holed up in his cramped quarters, fingers moving clumsily, at first, before he learned to steady his hand, peering through the magnifying glass to deftly weave gossamer thread around the precious fragments he hunted for and collected so diligently.

On the morning he was to leave for the estate, Will woke at 3 o’clock in the morning, readying himself to meet the carriage at precisely 4. He had said what few goodbyes he had to give the evening before, shared his last meal with his one true friend, the two of them staying up far too late telling tales of the past over a bottle of wine they had pilfered from the kitchens.

The coachman took his trunk from him as he stepped into the coach, turning and pausing just once at the door to look one last time upon the place he had grown to call home over the past 8 years. He would miss his stream, he would miss the forests, and he would miss Matthew – but he felt giddy with nervous excitement for perhaps the first time in his life. An excitement to retreat to a quiet estate in the country, join the household of a dignified count and leave behind all he had ever known as Will Graham, the cast-out orphan.

He turned his head as the coachman opened the door, closing his eyes as he heard the crack of the reins before the coach began to move over the gravel road. He was not expecting to sleep through the rickety journey to the inn, at which he would spend the night before travelling to the Lecter Estate in the morning, but his head was aching from a long night of drinking, and the darkness brought a welcome relief.

The journey would be a long one, with a brief stop for lunch at midday, then continuing on until late evening. Will wondered if there would be a place for him to fish at his new home. Even so, his mind worked in such a way that he could imagine his own stream if there was none available to him. Many times in his youth, when he was banished indoors while his cousins played outside, he would shut his eyes – just as he did now – and wade into the quiet of the stream. Hours he spent there, alone and contented by it, imagining a dog, perhaps, swimming at his side, the sun above glinting blindingly bright on the still water...

The coach around him faded into the background, and Will was alone once more, floating peacefully in his stream.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will arrives at the Lecter Estate and meets the household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a huge thank you for the kudos and comments on the first chapter! I never know how to reply to comments because all I can think is 'AHHHHHHHH thank you so much' but each one fills me with joy and I am so, so grateful. I wasn't planning to post the next chapter for a few days yet, but the response I got was so wonderful that I found myself finishing the next chapter much earlier than I expected. Also I made a tumblr! You can find me [here](http://fester-ing.tumblr.com).

Will awoke with a start to a banging on the coach door.

“Sir? We’ve arrived at the inn.”

Stretching his arms, Will dimly recalled stopping for lunch at a quaint pub on the side of the road and eating more than his fill, having forgotten what food could taste like beyond porridge and variations of lukewarm stew. Stuffed and sleepy, he had clambered wearily back into the coach and must have fallen asleep near instantly, despite the bumpy road they travelled.

He took a moment to attempt to straighten his sleep-wrinkled shirt before stepping out of the coach into the cool evening. This was as far north as he’d ever been, and though it may have been his whimsical imagination, he couldn’t help but think that the air felt different here, the ground beneath his feet softer and brighter from days of rain and lack of sun. And still he had a ways north to go.

The porter took his trunk and carried it into the inn, leaving Will to follow behind in a still sleep-dazed state. He found himself being led to his room by a stout, smiling red-faced woman, who offered him food and ale and enquired with interest about what had brought him to Lincolnshire.

“I can tell you’re a ways from home, sir,” she told him while they climbed a narrow staircase, “You’ve the look of the south about you.”

Will smiled a little, eyes trained down on the steps below. “Am I so obvious?”

“’Fraid so, sir,” she chuckled. “You southern boys always are.”

“My family were from the north, but I’ve never strayed beyond Hertfordshire.” They stopped at the top of the stairs and the woman unlocked a door, revealing a comfortable, well-furnished room. Cosy, yet far more space than had been afforded to him in his room at the academy. The bed looked almost decadent, and would undoubtedly be the softest he’d slept in in years.

“Have you come to visit, sir?”

Will looked back with a start, having almost forgotten the presence behind him. “No, they are long dead. I am to take a tutoring position at the Lecter Estate.”

She clapped her hands together delightedly. “Oh, how joyous for you, sir, to work in such a household! The count is a gentleman like no other. A true European man, I’ve heard it said, charming to all. Now, sir, I shall bring your ale, and a warm meal, perhaps?”

He nodded and thanked her, waiting until he heard the door close before falling unceremoniously onto the bed. So many hours in the coach had left his body stiff and aching. Will felt calmness wash over him, a lightness of being he had never truly felt before. Here he was, so many miles away from the cramped quarters where he had crumbled under the weight of so many minds, the cacophony of pain nearly deafening. Here there was nothing but silence, a silence he did not even need to wade into his stream to find.

It was blissful.

After a few moments, he swung his legs to the ground and stood, seeking out the writing materials left on the desk nearby. It may be a little soon to write, but he felt he had so much to say that he simply had to write the words down.

_Dear Matthew,_ he wrote,

_How different things are here! You told me, just yesterday evening, that things felt entirely Other in the north. I understand now what you meant, my friend. Truly, the air here feels easier to breathe. Perhaps it is the suddenness of finding myself in a place so utterly open, a place not surrounded by teenaged boys and their woes. The quiet is unlike anything I’ve known, save for the whistle of wind through the trees outside my window._

_I have only just arrived at the inn at which I am to spend the night. And the bed, Matt! It’s so unlike those at the academy, stiff and unforgiving. I imagine that tonight I shall sleep more soundly than I have in years._

_Tomorrow I shall travel by carriage to the Lecter Estate, as well you know. I am all nerves, yet I cannot deny the underlying hum of excitement. They say that the count is a good man and a good employer. They say that his estate spans over hill and valley. Strange to think, when one has lived on land so flat for so long. Yet here there are hills near as big as mountains, towering above wild horses below – wild!_

_I shall write again once I have arrived at the place I am to call home. Presently, I wait upon a warm meal, in a charming room in the country, anxiously eager to see what the sun shall bring with him._

_Warm regards,_

_Will_

*

The carriage that arrived to bring him to the estate was certainly the finest Will had ever travelled in, with furnishings of soft velvet in crimson as bright as blood. He had seen fine things before at the house he grew up in, but nothing that could compare to the finery he now perched so delicately upon, mindful of marking or denting the fabric. Of course the count must have a great deal of wealth, but to send a carriage so fine for a tutor seemed extraordinary.

Reflecting once more on his wardrobe, he considered the likelihood that it would not match up to what the count expected of his household, and that he would have to travel into town to find something more suitable. The thought was not an appealing one. Will was not one to dress so garishly, finding that the dull tones of hand-me-downs he’d worn as a child allowed him to go about unnoticed, and had continued to adorn himself with the same shades of brown and grey into adulthood.

All at once the carriage came to a halt.

Will turned to look out the window and his breath caught in his throat. There the estate stood, behind wrought iron gates, stately and grand and unlike anything he could have imagined. Dozens of turrets towered above rooms that seemed to be made almost entirely from windows, the glass glittering against the setting sun.

The gardens were so vast he was sure they must span for miles, acres of woodland as far as the eye could see, delicately crafted topiary and statuesque fountains with stone cherubim sitting at their feet.

The porter was opening the door, taking his trunk and leading him through the gates, towards a door several times taller than himself, and all Will could do was look in awe around him.

“You’re lucky you came to us in the spring, sir,” he told Will, “In winter the grounds are so covered in ice the place is practically unreachable. It’s a nightmare to even get beyond the gates when the iron freezes over. Bleak indeed!”

Will listened numbly as they walked through the door, glancing up at the high ceilings and artwork aligning every wall.

“Of course we manage, but it’s never easy, Mr Graham,” the porter continued, placing his trunk unceremoniously on the floor and wiping his brow. “Are you accustomed to the cold, sir? I’m sure your southern winters are like northern summers.”

“Mr Price!” a melodic voice called from above them. “Do not scare the young man off only minutes after he walks through our door, please.” she spoke kindly, and smiled at Will as she descended the staircase to them.

The porter – Mr Price – bowed slightly to the woman. She was beautiful: long hair braided back on her head, blue dress perfectly matched to her pale eyes.

“Alana Bloom,” she introduced herself with a handshake. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Mr Price, would you take Mr Graham’s trunk to his room? You’re quite fortunate, Mr Graham, you’ve arrived just in time for supper.”

“Oh, Will, please, Miss Bloom.” he smiled nervously at her, still consciously trying to stop his eyes from darting around the room. Good Lord, it was incredible to behold.

She seemed to sense his nerves as she gently ushered him up the stairwell, to the only slightly plainer servants’ quarters. “Very well then, Will. Alana, then, please. I’m sure you must be hungry after your journey. Would you care to dine with us?”

Will nodded, not entirely trusting his voice. This was beyond anything he could have anticipated. Surely he was not of the standard to work in such a household, with its servants’ quarters as lavish as any prince’s home. Both Miss Bloom and Mr Price were so superiorly dressed, and it was certain that Count Lecter would expect more of his ward’s tutor than his porter and housekeeper. He couldn’t shake of the feeling that he didn’t belong in this place, poor orphan turned lowly teacher, a plain little brown sparrow amongst scarlet pheasants.

Alana led him into a dining room with wide windows and a table of polished oak with several upholstered chairs surrounding it. A woman with dark hair sat in one of the chairs, looking up to give them a grin as they entered.

“Will, this is Miss Beverly Katz. Miss Beverly Katz-“

“Just Beverly, Alana,” she stood, rolling her eyes fondly. “Will Graham, we’ve been waiting for you. Shall I call the rest of our sorry friends for dinner?”

Alana gave Beverly a stern look, but the corners of her mouth were slightly upturned. “Yes, do. “

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you wait,” said Will.

“No apology necessary,” Beverly told him. “I think we could all stand to learn some patience. Zeller must be foaming at the mouth by now.”

“Beverly!” Alana exclaimed. “Whatever will Will think of us?”

Beverly’s returning laugh could be heard from down the corridor.

Turning to Will, Alana sighed softly. “I apologise on her behalf, but in truth, that’s how things always are here. Rather mad, the lot of them.”

“Oh no, don’t apologise. You’ve all been so kind to me.” He spoke earnestly, having expected a much colder welcome from the staff, perhaps a greeting from a withdrawn, middle-aged housekeeper with grey hair and a stern manner. Yet all these people were as bright as the place they lived in. He’d received no more than a barely amenable politeness from those he worked with at the academy, with one notable exception.

Alana sat, indicating for him to do the same. “I hope we shall always be able to offer you kindness, if nothing else.”

He took the chair next to her with a hesitant smile just as Beverly returned with two men in two, one of whom Will recognised as the porter, Mr Price.

“Will, meet Jimmy Price and Zeller. Jimmy and Zeller, Will, our charming southerner.” The three sat just as a round-faced woman brought around china plates piled high with meat and potatoes.

“Mr Graham has already had the pleasure of meeting me – thank you, Eliza – earlier this evening.”

“And how unfortunate for him,” Zeller added.

“Mr Zeller, I’d thank you not to try to diminish my character in front of Mr Graham.“

“I wonder how one’s character can be diminished when one has no character to speak of-”

“Boys!” Alana cut in. “Not at dinner, please. Let us be civilised for our new friend, at least.”

Beverly hummed. “Quite, but would it not be better for Will to learn how uncivilised they are now rather than later?”

The rest of dinner continued much in the same manner, the three of them fondly teasing each other while Alana occasionally interjected, her complaints growing more lacklustre each time. Occasionally, Will would answer a brief question – a “Where were you employed before you came to us, Mr Graham?” or a “Don’t you agree that Mr Zeller chews his food like an animal, Mr Graham?” and he would smile, feeling the warmth of these strange, wonderful people fill him and warm him in turn. So unlike those from his school, where they had eaten meals silently and seriously, exchanging brief ‘good evening’s and not a word more. Of course Will was tired from the journey, and company was always taxing in some manner, yet there was no overwhelming urge to escape that accompanied him in nearly all social situations.

He could see these people, see them right down to the soul as he always could, and they were good. Wholly kind-hearted and good.

“Tomorrow you shall meet Miss Abigail, and start on her education,” Alana said, when their plates had been scraped clean and the candles were dimming. "She's an intelligent girl, if a little behind on her studies. The job of her tutor shall not be a difficult one, pleasant and eager as she is."

“And what about Count Lecter? Shall I be meeting him as well?”

Beverly smiled. “No, he is away at present. He is often away.”

“Oh,” Will murmured. “I see.”

“He’s a good master, and a better man. But not one who tends to stay in one place.” Alana explained with her ever-soft smile.

“It is the vice of every wealthy man,” said Mr Price.

Soon enough they departed, Alana leading Will to his room and bidding him goodnight.

It was beautiful. Of course it was beautiful; a wide canopy bed with soft furnishings, an honest to goodness chaise longue, a brightly painted desk and matching chair, and best of all, windows as tall as him overlooking the endless countryside.

He stood at the window for a moment, lighting the candle left at his bedside as to better look upon the view before him. He could see the swells of the land in rolling hills, the rise and fall of branches dancing in the breeze, the moon dancing on the lake below.

Unpacking his trunk would have to wait until morning, Will decided, undressing and, feeling contented and sleepy, falling into the soft bed below him.

What a wonderful place he had found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, I based the estate off of [Stoke Rochford Hall](https://www.easy-breaks.com/wmslib/hotels/stoke-rochford-hall/detail/rochfordhall-stoke-extrenal-gardenview.jpg). It was only built in the 1830s so it would have been too modern for the time, but it's a beautiful place.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will makes two new friends, and someone returns home.

By the time the sun rose, Will was already dressed and nervously pacing his room. In the daylight he noticed things he could not see in the dark last night – the delicately carved flowers on his bedposts, the golden thread woven through the thick curtains. He stood out more than ever, plain sparrow that he was. Acquiring a wardrobe of a higher standard would have to be his first priority. He only hoped there was a tailor nearby that was within his price range.

A knock on the door made him jump.

“Will? Would you like to join us for breakfast?” Alana called.

He strode to the door, unlocking and opening it with fumbling hands. “Not today. I mean, no thank you. I have no appetite.” He confessed.

“I understand your nerves, but there is no need for them. Abigail is a wonderful girl and your qualifications speak for themselves,” she reassured him. “Won’t you join us?”

“I thank you, but no. I fear my stomach will turn if I eat.”

“Take some tea with us, at least.” She beckoned him forward, and, reluctantly, he went.

They walked to the dining room in silence. Alana seemed to understand that he was not quite up to conversation this morning, and Will was grateful for it. In the place of words, he studied the hallways around him. Paintings adorned almost every inch of each wall they walked past, great golden frames towering several feet, bright and brilliant depictions of angels and saints and all manner of beauty. A few he recognised, and he wandered yet again at the great wealth of the man he now worked for.

Beverly greeted them both as they sat, passing one of the steaming teacups on the table to Will.

“Thank you,” he said, curling his unsteady fingers around the delicate porcelain.

For a moment the room was quiet, the silence only broken by the occasional clink of silverware against china as Alana and Beverly ate.

Well, there was no use in sitting in silent fear all morning

“At what time shall I begin teaching Miss Abigail?” Will asked Alana between sips.

“8 o’clock, I should hope. The girl is forever rising late. But Count Lecter was very specific in his instructions for her education.” Alana answered.

“Oh?”

Alana looked apologetic for a moment. “I know it’s not exactly... Usual, but he’s compiled a rather comprehensive schedule. He would be teaching her himself, see, if he were not so often away.”

Knowing what was to be expected of him brought Will a great deal of relief. At least he would not have to worry about compiling an adequate curriculum for the child. “Well, I only hope I can live up to Count Lecter’s expectations.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will.” With that Alana rose, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a handkerchief. “Shall we go and see if your student has risen yet?”

“I saw her wandering through the library in the east wing not ten minutes ago. She’s excited to meet you.” Beverly told him encouragingly.

Will swallowed. “Well, then. The library.”

In fact, Miss Abigail Hobbs was not in the east wing library, though it would have taken at least twenty minutes to thoroughly search the place, for it was truly enormous, with more books than Will had ever seen. Neither was she in the dining room, nor the sitting room which, according to Alana, she most frequented.

Alana was about to send a search party into the gardens when they heard a small voice behind them.

“Miss Bloom!”

Will turned to see a young girl run towards them, before seemingly remembering herself as Alana made a tutting sound and walking the rest of the way.

She was dark-haired and pale, and so small and slight that Will feared she might topple over at any second. Her eyes were a delicate pale blue, yet they had a hardness buried deep within them that made him certain they had seen much beyond what any young girl should have to see.

Looking at her, he could not help but think how similar this girl looked to him at her age.

“What have I told you about wandering off without Miriam?” Alana asked with fond exasperation.

Abigail looked down and bit her lip. “Not to do it, Miss Bloom. But I was so excited I couldn’t sit still, you see, and-”

“Yes, Abigail, I see. Would you like to say hello to Mr Graham?”

She looked up at him shyly and curtsied ever so slightly. “How do you do, Mr Graham?”

“Very well,” he smiled down at her, giving a small bow in return. “And how do you do, Miss Abigail?”

“Very well, too.” Abigail answered, nervously rocking from foot to foot.

“Abigail, why don’t you show Mr Graham to your classroom?” Alana suggested. “Count Lecter has granted you full use of the study, and I’ve taken the liberty of acquiring basic school things for you both.”

The young girl’s eyes lit up, suddenly losing some of her shy demeanour. She offered her hand to Will, and he took it gently, feeling an overwhelming wave of fondness for this delicate child he had just met.

“I’ll show you,” Abigail told him. “Will you teach me about all the faraway countries Count Lecter travels to? He promised he’d take me with him when I grow older, but I want to know as much as I can now, so I am ready when he decides I have grown older.”

Will remembered spending afternoons hidden in the library of his childhood home, reading books about the great sprawling deserts of Africa, and the twisting jungles of the Amazon. He remembered the dull, tugging ache in his chest, the yearning to see each corner of the world for himself, to leave his dismal reality behind. “I am to teach you whatever Count Lecter desires. But,” he ducked as if to whisper in her ear conspiratorially, and she leaned in closer with a look of delight – “I’m sure we can learn all about these far off countries together.”

“I’ll leave you two be. Come and find me in the parlour if you need anything, Mr Graham.” Alana departed with a smile and a small wave in their direction.

Hand still held tight in hers, Will turned back to face Abigail. “Shall we go and discover this classroom?”

She nodded, still smiling shyly up at him, and pulled him forward with a gentle tug of his hand.

They walked through the winding hallways together, Abigail slightly in front of him. Every so often his pace would slow as he turned to look at one of the many paintings surrounding them on both sides, and she would tug his hand again impatiently until he laughed quietly and tore his gaze away.

Will was beginning to expect the overwhelming vastness and elegance of each new room he entered, and so was not, perhaps, as taken back by the sight of what was to be their classroom as he might have been otherwise. It was lavishly furnished, of course, two large carved desks with a design that reminded him of the flowers that adorned his bedposts, and several chairs to match. A chalkboard stood at the front of the room, and lining the shelves were hundreds of books, books of all manner – books on geography, historical books, books in languages he did not recognise. A gilt globe occupied half of one shelf, and he noticed several writing and drawing materials tucked away neatly nearby.

Lying on the top of one of the desks was a letter, folded and sealed, bearing his name. He let go of Abigail’s hand, smiling reassuringly at her as he picked up the letter and opened it.

_Dear Mr Graham,_ it read,

_I send my most sincere apologies for being unable to greet you upon your arrival. As you hold this letter in your hand, I am away across the Channel, attending to business in Europe. No doubt I am bored out of my mind whilst you, Mr Graham, are blessed enough to be guiding the future of our sovereign nation._

_I have compiled a curriculum of sorts of the precise subjects I wish dear Abigail’s education to consist of, and I do hope you’ll forgive me for the rather presumptive rudeness of doing so. Please know that it is not out of any doubts I harbour regarding your talents that I write to you now, but rather out of the fierce desire I have, as Abigail’s guardian, to see her excel in all things, as I know she can._

_Everything you require should be in this room. If there is anything more you need, or if you have any concerns, simply ask Miss Bloom and she will happily accommodate you._

_Regards_

_H. Lecter_

It was rather an odd letter, all things considered. Count Lecter wrote to him as if they were old friends, rather than a tutor and his employer who had yet to meet.

The curriculum detailed exactly what Will was to teach Abigail over the next six months, the topics ranging from Shakespeare to sciences to languages. The count certainly was a thorough man. It was quite an unusual education for a young girl, but Will hardly disapproved – he had long thought that both the sexes deserved equally proper schooling. It was true that Abigail would have less practical use for this knowledge than a young man might, her gender restricting her greatly in terms of any future profession. Yet he could sense that the girl was intelligent, even after just knowing her for mere moments, and he had no doubts that she would be up to the task.

“What does it say? Can I learn about the continents now?” Abigail asked eagerly. She had already sat at one of the desks, and was swinging her legs back and forth as she perched upon a wooden chair.

He folds the letter carefully before walking over to the chalkboard and picking up a piece of chalk. “We’re to start with languages,” he told her, writing the date on the chalkboard in French and sending a silent prayer of gratitude that he was more or less fluent. “Perhaps Count Lecter would like you to know the language of France before he takes you there.”

Abigail grinned, her face practically beaming with delight. Will couldn’t help but smile in return.

“So, firstly, we have numbers...”

 

*

The first month of Will’s time at the Lecter Estate passed uneventfully. Each day he woke long before the sun had risen, dressed quickly, and joined Alana and Beverly for breakfast. The nightmares that had plagued him his entire life had followed him to his new home, but he was rather used to functioning on only a few hours of sleep.

After breakfast he moved to the study and spent the morning in lessons with Abigail. They usually took lunch together, occasionally eating outside in the gardens if the weather was pleasant. As the days passed, his fondness for the girl grew. He still did not know what exactly had transpired that left her with such a world-weary look for a young girl, not to mention living in the care of a count she seemingly bore no relation to. With his ‘gift’, though, he could discern enough. Someone she once trusted deeply had betrayed her, a parent, perhaps. They had done something truly terrible in the name of love – or at least a twisted, malevolent form of love – and seeing their actions had stripped Abigail of much of her innocence. He could easily see more, if he looked deep enough, but he would not do the child such a disservice.

In the afternoons, Will would often walk into town. The walk was a relatively long one, an hour there and an hour back, but he enjoyed it. The days were starting to grow warmer and warmer as summer crept towards them, and the long days of sun made for perfect evening strolls through the sprawling countryside.

He had been fortunate enough to find a tailor he could afford with his new wages, and had made the journey there to improve his wardrobe within a week of his arrival. His new clothes were still understated, simple shirts and breeches, but at least they were free of holes and ranged in more colours than shades of brown and white.

It was on such a stroll back from the town that he found a dog on the road.

Will approached the animal hesitantly, not wanting to send it running. The poor beast was covered in mud; its fur matted and stuck up in various angles. It remained reluctant to go anywhere near him, despite his gentle coaxing.

Deciding to take a different approach, he sat on the grass beside the cobblestones, stretched his legs out, and waited.

After a few minutes the dog came to him, sniffing at his hand and jerking back at first before allowing itself to be touched.

“Good dog,” Will murmured softly, lightly petting its head. His hands would be black with filth but that hardly mattered. He lifted the dog gently. “Good boy. What are you doing out here all alone, boy?”

The dog continued to nuzzle his hand.

It was undoubtedly a stray, judging by how his ribs stuck out through his coat, even as it was thick with dirt. “Winston,” Will said decisively. “You look like a Winston.”

Winston licked his hand and Will was struck by an irrational longing to bring the dog home with him. He couldn’t, of course he couldn’t. He was merely a tutor. The master of the estate wasn’t even home, and would no doubt take great offence upon returning to find his newest employee had brought a dog into his pristine palace. Yet still he kept wishing for it. Dogs had been a source of comfort and stability to him from an early age, and he had so missed the presence of them in the last month.

Perhaps the dog could stay in the porter’s house with Jimmy. That way no one would even notice it, he’d be so out of the way. Will could feed it scraps of his own dinner, goodness knows he could never finish his own –

He was so caught up in these musings that he did not notice the horse galloping at a steady rate down the road until it was almost on top of him.

The rider pulled tightly at the reins, the horse bucking as it came to a sudden halt and unseating the man sat upon it.

Will was holding Winston firmly, concerned that he’d bolt, but the dog seemed calm enough. He jumped up to help the fallen man. “I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t see you. Can I help you, are you hurt?”

The man glanced up with maroon eyes blazing, and said nothing.

“Can I help you, sir?” Will asked again, apprehension clear in his voice.

The fire in the man’s eyes dimmed as he attempted to lift himself from the ground. “It appears I have injured my leg.” He said shortly, voice thick with an accent Will did not recognise. “Could you lead my horse back to me?”

Will did so immediately, pulling lightly at the creature’s reins until it reluctantly trotted over to his master.

“Thank you.”

Will offered him a hand, and the man took it, gripping tightly as he pulled himself upright.

“I really do apologise, sir. I was on my way home and I found a dog and I must have been so distracted I did not hear your horse approach.” Will attempted to glance into the man’s eyes briefly, just enough to get some idea of what exactly he was thinking, if he was angry, but there was nothing there.

Nothing at all.

“And where is home? Should you be walking alone this late?”

“The Lecter Estate, sir. And I’m quite safe, I – I know the way well.” Will answered, glancing back down at Winston, who was currently sitting at his feet.

The man smiled in amusement. Amusement at what, Will could only imagine. “Well, that dog looks rather in need of a bath, wouldn’t you agree? Perhaps you had both better run along home.”

“I – yes. Of course. Thank you, sir.”

He climbed back onto the horse gracefully, despite his injured leg, and tipped his hat towards Will. “Safe travels, Mr Graham. One dreads to think what lurks in the empty fields at nightfall.”

The words sent a tremor down Will’s spine. He watched the man ride away, frozen in place until a whine from Winston brought him out of his reverie.

“Well, boy,” he said with a sigh, delicately stroking the tangled fur on Winston’s head, “It appears you’re coming home with me after all.”

It wasn’t until he was halfway back to the estate that he realised he had never told the stranger his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! Talk to me on [tumblr](http://fester-ing.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will formally meets Count Lecter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the kudos and comments! I'm going to attempt to upload every Monday from now on, but I'm absolutely terrible with schedules, so I may mess up now and then. Also, I'm going to RDC4 (my first ever Hannibal con!) and since I'm relatively new to the fandom, it would be great to get to know some other folks who are going! Talk to me on [tumblr](http://fester-ing.tumblr.com)

It was long past nightfall by the time Will had returned to the estate.

He discovered that a walk that normally took him no longer than an hour took twice as long with a dog in tow, particularly a dog that kept attempting to chase after wild rabbits, leaving Will to scramble after him. Not to mention his distraction after meeting the stranger on the road who somehow knew his name – the town nearby was a small one, and though he had not socialised greatly with its inhabitants, he was sure he’d recall seeing the man if they had previously met in passing. Besides, he was dressed far too well for a village local. Perhaps he had come to visit the estate and somehow heard his name there?

He headed straight for the porter’s annex, hoping he could at least borrow a pail from Jimmy to wash the worst of the dirt off of Winston before they went inside.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Jimmy chuckled as he opened the door.

Will hadn’t even considered how he must look after wading through fields and running after a dog for hours. He’d rolled up his breeches so his trousers would be saved the worst of it, but he’d had to hold onto Winston more than once and his jacket was undoubtedly filthy.

“And you’ve brought home... A beast of some kind?”

Will sighed. “A dog, yes. I found him wandering the moors, and thought I could at least bathe him. I know I can’t keep him in the house, but perhaps he could stay here with you? At least until Count Lecter returns home and I can ask him if Winston might be permitted inside once I’ve trained him.”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

He grinned. “Let me get a basin first. The poor thing’s more dirt than dog.”

Will washed Winston slowly and thoroughly, making sure to rid him of every ounce of dirt. He grew even filthier than before, covered in the brown water that ran in rivulets off Winston’s fur. It was almost certain that the shirt he was wearing was now completely unsalvageable.

Once Winston was clean – and significantly smaller than he had appeared when Will found him – he left him with Jimmy, hoping he could get to his quarters without being noticed to change his clothes before dinner.

He had just made it through the front door, glancing around him to make sure no one was around, when he collided into something. A warm, tall, solid something.

Will looked up into the eyes of the man he’d met out on the moors.

“Mr Graham, you seem quite determined to knock me to my feet,” he said, smiling.

Will’s eyes widened in recognition. “I am so, so, sorry, sir. Entirely my fault, I was not paying attention-”

“Will!” Alana was walking quickly down the staircase towards them. “Ah, good, you’ve met Count Lecter – Will, what on earth happened to you?”

Oh, God.

His _clothes._ And the count, of course he knew who he was, the new addition to the household. Will sent a quiet prayer for the earth to open up beneath him.

“Indeed, Mr Graham and I were fortunate enough to meet on the road.” The count said, seemingly unbothered by Will’s current state of disarray.

Will could not remember ever feeling so humiliated. “Excuse me, sir, but I should change into something clean.”

“Yes, of course. But won’t you do me the honour of joining me for supper in the drawing room once you are dressed?”

At that moment, Will wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and hide in shame for the rest of the foreseeable future. Still, he knew he could not refuse the offer. He nodded, bowing slightly before turning to make a hasty retreat.

“Mr Graham?” Count Lecter called after him just as he was climbing the stairs.

Will stopped halfway up the stairs, turning back to face him. He hoped the blush he could feel burning his face would pass as the aftermath of a hike through the fields.

“Where is your canine friend?”

“Oh, I – he’s with Mr Price in the porter’s lodgings. I didn’t think you’d want him inside, sir.”

The count smiled wide again, baring sharp teeth. “I see no harm in letting the beast inside on occasion. I trust you to keep him well trained.”

“Of course, sir.” Will hesitated. “And thank you.”

Count Lecter just continued to smile up at him as he finally made his way upstairs, walking as quickly as he could without seeming rude.

 

*

 

After changing into clean clothes and splashing his face with water in an attempt to lessen the redness of his cheeks, Will made his way through the endless maze of hallways to the drawing room. It had taken him quite some time to learn his way around without a servant to guide in, and, in all honesty, he still lost his way on occasion.

Somehow he made it without getting lost, aside from the slight diversion when he accidentally turned left instead of right. He hesitated at the door, suddenly unsure if this was a good idea. After all, had he not already made a bad enough impression upon his employer? There was no need for him to demonstrate how hopeless he was in prolonged social interactions.

But the count had asked him here himself, and it would be unspeakably rude to turn around now.

Will knocked.

Miriam, Abigail’s handmaid, opened the door and smiled up at him unsteadily. She was a mute, and the story behind the loss of her voice had become a sort of legend at the estate. Will did his best not to listen to any of the fantastical tall tales. She was a kindly woman, if a little nervous and on edge.

“Thank you, Miriam, you may leave us.” Count Lecter called from where he sat by the fireplace.

She hurried off without so much as a look back, leaving Will to step inside and close the door behind him.

“Mr Graham! Mr Graham, look what Count Lecter brought me!”

Will startled for a moment before realising Abigail was sat on a stool by the feet of the count, obscured behind him.

“Abigail, should we not start conversations with a ‘good evening’?” Count Lecter admonished.

The girl frowned slightly. “Sorry. Good evening, Mr Graham.”

“Good evening, Abigail.” He replied, standing awkwardly behind the count’s chair.

Count Lecter looked up in amusement. “Please, sit.”

Will murmured his thanks as he sat in the chair opposite, staring into the flames. He could feel the count’s gaze burning into him.

“Supper should be served momentarily. Perhaps you might show Mr Graham after we have eaten, yes?”

Abigail nodded, moving from the stool she was perched upon to sit next to him.

“Abigail speaks very highly of you,” the count said as the servants began to set the table. “She assures me that you are the best tutor in the county.”

Will felt his cheeks redden slightly, and glanced down at his plate. “I think perhaps my talents have been slightly exaggerated, sir. But I do enjoy teaching Miss Abigail greatly.” He turned to look at the child to find her beaming up at him.

Count Lecter observed them thoughtfully for a moment, before turning his attention to his meal. “Nonetheless, I am most grateful. I hope you will stay with us for many moons to come.”

“Mr Graham will stay with us forever.” Declared Abigail, delicately cutting into her dinner with a table manner surprisingly unlike that of most children.

“Is that so?” Hannibal caught Will’s gaze, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Well, then. To our Mr Graham.” He raised his glass.

Will looked away, doing his utmost best to concentrate on eating without choking and embarrassing himself further.

 

*

 

Supper passed slowly, Will growing more and more uncomfortable each time the count caught his gaze. When they had first met, he had seen nothing in those eyes, but now, up close, he felt as if the veil there has shifted just ever so slightly. The mask had moved just enough for Will to observe the emotion lying beyond, namely amusement at Will’s obvious discomfort at being praised so openly.

Later, once their bellies were full and Will felt he was growing feverish with blushing so frequently, Abigail sat by the fire and showed him the gift Count Lecter had brought her. It was a brass telescope, clearly an expensive one – though he would have expected nothing less, naturally. It was an odd gift for a young girl, perhaps, who would be expected to prefer lace and ribbon and fine gowns, but Will had never been one to believe in such rigid roles between genders. It was a gift she clearly treasured, much more so than she would have any frills or silk dresses.

As he watched her peer through the telescope, face illuminated by the flickering flames behind her, Will felt warmth spread through him and settle in his bones. He cared for the child deeply, in a manner that could almost be called paternal, despite the obvious face that he was only a handful of years her senior.

More than once, he felt Count Lecter’s eyes boring into him. He gazed without judgement, simply observing the two of them while he continued to sip his wine.

“Abigail, dear,” he said eventually. “I believe it is time you went to bed. Miriam must be waiting on you outside the door by now.”

The child acquiesced immediately, packing up her telescope and bidding them both good night. Will smiled softly as she watched her leave, taking Miriam’s hand after opening the door and waving at him with the other.

“She is very fond of you.”

Will glanced back at the count. “And I her, sir.”

He hummed. “Good. Her last tutor was not of your disposition. I am most glad to see the two of you get along.” He stood, walking over to a table in the corner where a glass bottle stood. “Do you drink whiskey, Mr Graham?”

“Yes, sir.” Though only whatever cheap spirit he and Matt could find, nothing like whatever Count Lecter offered.

He walked back with two glasses in hand. Will had already drunk more than one glass of wine with supper, and hesitated for a moment. But he could hardly pass up on what was sure to be the finest whiskey he had ever tasted. He thanked the count, sipping from his glass.

“Do you not wonder how I knew you on the road, Mr Graham?”

“Will,” he said automatically, and ah, that would be the wine talking. “I-I only mean you – could call me Will if you wished, sir.”

The count’s lip quirked. “Then I should instruct you to address you by my given name, Hannibal.”

“Oh no, sir,” Will’s eyes widened. “That would be improper. Forgive me-”

“William,” he said softly. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. I know I am your employer, but I would certainly not be opposed to a certain closeness. God forbid we become friendly.” He grinned.

Will suddenly found his mind stuck on the phrase _a certain closeness_ , and he swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Hannibal.”

“Yes... Hannibal.” The name felt heavy on his tongue.

“Good,” Hannibal refilled his glass. “And now that we are friends, I shall ask again: Do you not wonder how I knew you on the road, good Will?”

Will frowned in confusion. “I thought you made the assumption upon learning that I was returning to your own estate, sir, and, since you did not recognise me, deduced that I must be the newest of your household.”

“Well, there is that,” Hannibal acknowledged. “But I must admit that I already knew your face.”

Will’s eyebrows shot up.

“I visited your academy once, perhaps three years hence,” he explained. “And I saw you there, working. Your teacher seemed to question you the most harshly, yet you responded correctly each time, proving yourself to possess intelligence well beyond that of most your age. I have somewhat of a good memory, and I could recall the moment with complete clarity as soon as I read your advertisement.”

Stunned, Will took a long sip from his glass, draining it once more. “You knew of me?”

“Indeed I did. I was most delighted to know you were looking for employment. I knew that there was no one better I could find to tutor Abigail, and ensured that Mr Crawford would allow me to offer you a position.”

Will nearly dropped his glass. “You talked to Mr Crawford...” He said slowly. Indeed, it had been strange how the man was so willing to let him go. He was notoriously stubborn when it came to accepting resignation.

“He is an old friend,” Hannibal admitted. “I hope I did not overstep.”

“No, I,” Will rubbed at his head, beginning to feel a lightness. Perhaps drinking so quickly was not a good idea, especially when the wine had already had some effect on him. “I’m not sure what I should say, in all honestly.”

“Then say nothing,” Hannibal told him. “Simply know that I have the utmost respect for your skills.”

“...Thank you,” he replied after a moment. “I think – I think I should retire to bed now, sir. The whiskey may have caught up with me.”

“Certainly,” Hannibal said smoothly, standing as Will did. “Good night, William. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Hannibal.”

He shut the door behind him gently, before leaning to rest his weight against the aged wood, letting his head fall back.

Count Lecter was nothing like he had expected.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The estate has some visitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took so long! As those of you who follow me on tumblr will know, I recently moved into my own flat and man the process of moving was stressful. 
> 
> Also a reminder that I don't have a beta, and despite being an English student am utterly terrible at proof-reading (AKA lazy) so please forgive any silly grammar mistakes.

Life at the Lecter Estate was comfortable in a way Will never imagined life could be.

He’d found friendship with almost all the other members of the household, particularly Beverly – who, despite only knowing for a relatively short time, Will already began to view as the older sister he never had.

Each morning he rose with a smile, looking forward to his morning lessons with Abigail. The would learn and laugh together, often staying long after the supposed end of her lesson at midday, utterly unaware of time’s passing. They were continuing to grow closer, and Will could now say without any doubt that he would do anything for the child.

Even Count Lecter treated him as a friend, seeking him out for luncheon and supper most days that he was home. The count seemed fascinated by Will’s excess of empathy, and would often question him for hours on end on the subject. Never before had someone cared to listen about how Will saw the world: they either saw his empathy as a fearful, evil thing, or preferred to pretend it did not exist. Even Matthew had never once asked about it.

Will found that he was writing less and less to his old friend as time went by. He felt some guilt over allowing the memory of Matt to fade so quickly – the man had been his first true friend, after all – yet still he could not help but let the days of missed letters turn to weeks, the weeks turn to months. His time at the academy and all those he had known there seemed so far away now, as if the people he knew were of another life entirely.

And so it was quite a surprise to receive a letter from Matthew informing him that he was coming to stay a fortnight with his uncle who owned land near the Lecter estate, and inviting Will to come and visit them.

His immediate reaction was to say no. Still he could hardly turn the invitation down, and he was certain that if he asked, Count Lecter would grant him leave for a few days. After all, he had not missed a single day’s work in all his months working as Abigail’s tutor. Matthew had once been a dear friend, and Will should be glad to see him once more, no matter how much time had passed and how deeply he had changed.

That settled it.

He approached the count that evening after they had taken supper, and were sitting by the fireplace drinking whiskey, as was their usual routine.

“Sir, I hope it’s not presumptuous of me to ask, but I’ve received a letter from an old friend at the academy. He’s coming to stay with his uncle who lives nearby, and he’s asked me to come and visit them for a few days. And I suppose, well, I was rather hoping...” Will trailed off, unsure of what exactly he should ask.

“You would take your leave of us to visit your friend?”

Will’s eyes shot up, but Hannibal was smiling, and there was no malice in his tone.

“Forgive me,” the count continued. “I was merely teasing you. Of course you should go to him.”

‘Go to him’, as if Will had been summoned as one might call forth a dog.

Hannibal continued to smile, but the look in his eyes was strained. “I only ask that you put your visit on hold for a short period of time so that you might meet our guests before you depart from us.”

“Guests?”

“Why yes, Will. Have I not told you? I shall be receiving a party of around twenty, amongst them the woman to whom I am betrothed.”

Will’s breath caught in his throat. Hannibal’s voice was steady and light, as if they were discussing the weather rather than matters of holy matrimony. “I – I did not know you were engaged to be wed, sir.”

Hannibal regarded him for a moment, his eyes searching Will’s face. “I am not engaged yet, dear Will. Rather I am promised to wed, held by duty to propose as I have been since my birth.”

Of course a man of Count Lecter’s wealth and demeanour would have his fill of suitors. Of course his noble family had chosen him a wife before he had even walked the earth, as such families often did. The count was in his late-thirties at least, by Will’s own estimate, it would rather be a shock that he was not yet wed or pledged to be so.

“When are you to be wed?” The words sounded strained even to his own ears.

The count stiffened in his seat. “Not for some time yet. Do not concern yourself.”

“I apologise, sir, I did not mean to intrude.”

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal smiled softly, almost sadly. “Your intrusion is never unwelcome. I did not mean to speak harshly. It is a subject I would prefer not to dwell on.”

It was a subject the count had brought up himself, as if it were nothing to him. Will could not understand his sudden change of temperament.

“Will you stay?”

Hannibal’s voice startled him. “Sir?”

“Until our guests arrive. Will you stay until then?”

“Of course. Only... sir?”

“Yes, William?”

Will swallowed. “It’s only...” God be good, how could he put this delicately? “You’ve not yet paid me, sir, and I will be unable to visit without something to, uh, pay my way.” The words leave him in one breath.

Laughing, Hannibal drained his glass. “Have I not? How remiss of me.” He reached for his billfold in his waistcoat pocket, thumbing through notes before handing several to Will.

Will counted them quickly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Sir, this is fifty pounds. You do not owe me half that sum, I couldn’t possibly take –”

The count reached for his hand and opened it gently, placing the paper in his palm and folding Will’s fingers around it. “Take your wages, Will.”

His hand burns where Hannibal’s fingers had lingered. He jumps back, blushing furiously. “If I am mugged on the road, sir, I shall have no one but you to blame.”  
Count Lecter bowed his head in amused acceptance, saying nothing.

*

Count Lecter’s guests arrived before the week’s end. The morning of their arrival had the estate buzzing with activity, rooms filled with staff working frantically to ensure everything was cleaned and presented to perfection. Will spent the morning with Abigail, having been instructed by the count to “keep her out of trouble” as she excitedly bounded about, distracted from her lessons until Will gave up on attempting to teach entirely. Instead, he listened as the girl babbled excitedly about meeting their guests, managing little more than a nervous smile in response. He had little idea what would be expected of him when the count’s guests arrived, having had almost no interaction with high society (with the exception of Hannibal, of course) and found his trepidation growing steadily as the morning continued.

Will had, in fact, decided that he would stay out of the way upstairs in his quarters as much as he possibly could, or perhaps outside with Winston. Yes, Count Lecter had asked him to meet his guests, but there was no way the man could have been in earnest, surely? Especially not today, when the fine ladies and gentlemen would have little interest in meeting a lowly tutor. There was nothing else for it, he would make his retreat the moment they arrived, and hopefully find a time to creep outside unnoticed later in the day.  
He really should not have been surprised when those plans were dashed entirely.

Both Will and Abigail were still sitting in the study – the latter still chatting away animatedly – when they heard the tell-tale sound of an arrival in hooves upon the cobblestones. Abigail had just jumped up in delight when Alana peered round the door, only having to beckon a finger at Abigail before she came running forwards.  
Will stayed stood at the window, craning his neck in an attempt to get a glimpse of these strangers as they exited their carriages.

“Will?”

He turned with a start to see Alana waiting expectantly in the doorway. “Yes?”  
“Aren’t you coming?”

He frowned in confusion. “I’m not sure that would be appropriate, Alana. I’m just a tutor.”

She held firmly onto Abigail’s hand to stopped the child from running away. “Count Lecter specifically asked that you be in the greeting party.”

His heart sank. “I really don’t think –”

“Nonsense,” she insisted, one hand on her hip, eyebrow raised in challenge. Clearly, there was no chance that they would be leaving without him.

Will sighed heavily, feeling dread curl up in his stomach. Hannibal had to know that he would not belong there; even casting aside his class status; he found it difficult at best to interact with a singular person, let alone a crowd. A crowd which would have extremely high expectations upon arriving at the Lecter Estate – with Count Lecter’s reputation, how could they not? He was bitterly aware that failing in this regard would reflect negatively on the count. The thought of disappointing him so made his stomach drop lower with nausea.

Hannibal was waiting for them by the front door, a wide smile upon his face that seemed to falter slightly when he noticed Will’s fear. He ushered Abigail and Alana forward ahead of them, briefly pressing a hand on the small of Will’s back to pull him closer.

“All right?” He asked softly, directly into his ear as to not be overheard.

Will swallowed, nodding slightly.

The count let his hand linger for a moment before withdrawing it. Will restrained a shiver at the loss of warmth.

“I have nothing but the utmost faith in you, Will.” He murmured as they stepped through the door.

Lifting, Will regarded Hannibal’s face openly, finding no trace of dishonesty. “Thank you, sir.”

He was gifted with a toothy smile before the count left his side, rushing forward to greet the men and women stepping out of their carriages.

Will let the sound of arbitrary greetings wash over him, turning to see Abigail suddenly struck with nerves as she stood just behind his legs. With overwhelming fondness, he recalled their first meeting, and the little girl who had been so hesitant to approach him.

Will took both her hands in his. “I’m sure all the ladies and gentlemen cannot wait to meet you, little bird.” He told her.

She gazed up at him trustingly, moving to stand beside him.

“May I introduce you to my ward?” Hannibal’s voice drifted over through the din.

“Go on,” Will smiled at her reassuringly, releasing her hands.

Abigail approached the gathering, curtsying shyly before standing up straight. Count Lecter was forever telling her to improve her posture, Will thought fondly, noticing how the man gazed at her with pride in his eyes.

“What a darling child,” a blonde woman said. “I am surprised though, Hannibal, that you have not send her to a suitable boarding school.” She spoke lightly, yet Will could feel an underlying chill in her voice.

“I would much prefer to keep her here, Miss DuMaurier, where I might keep a close eye on her education. In fact, let me introduce her talented tutor, Mr Graham. Will, come join us.” Hannibal instructed.

Will walked towards him slowly. His feet suddenly felt as though they weighed a hundred tonnes, and every step grew more and more difficult.

“How do you do, ma’am,” he managed, eyes trained to the ground.

The woman regarded him briefly with a sniff, blue eyes narrowing. “Why Hannibal, he’s charming.” She said dryly.

“Indeed. We are quite fortunate to have him.” Hannibal replied.

The woman turned away from him, reaching out to take Hannibal’s arm before saying something rapidly in a language Will did not recognise. And with that, Will was dismissed.

The rest of Count Lecter’s guests were fawning over Abigail, commenting on how pretty her dress was, how well mannered she was. Alana had begun to instruct the porters on which rooms the luggage should be taken to. If Will hurried, now would be the perfect opportunity for him to slip away unnoticed.

He made it back inside without incident, exhaling a breath he did not know he had been holding.

Suddenly, Will found himself looking forward to leaving.


End file.
